“Buongiorno,” I greet. “I’m not late. Am I?”
“Not today,” he grunts, turning his attention back to the screen. I turn to leave, but he tells me, “I want the new paintings up for tonight.” His order is gruff, and I can’t help but roll my eyes at his serious demeanor.
At times, he can be really friendly, but then there are those mornings where he and his wife have most probably had a fight where he drives me insane with his crankiness.
“Of course,” I respond, faking my smile before I head into the back room to hang up my jacket and purse. It’s been an easy job to get used to, up before eight in the morning, my early morning ritual of a yoga workout before my shower, and then racing down to get the coffees before spending my day surrounded by art.
Rich in history, it’s been a journey I would never have thought possible, yet here I am. Smiling, I take my drink and head into the gallery and make a beeline for the storeroom where the new collection awaits me.“Ms. Kinley, I was impressed with your resume and would like to see you when you return stateside,” the man who’s thinking of hiring me says in a deep Southern drawl. I’ve spent my yearlong apprenticeship in Italy, studying art, learning about the greats. Now, as I get ready to head back home, I have to find work.
I’ve spent the better part of two months scrolling through online employment sites, looking for something that will allow me to use the knowledge I’ve gained from spending time in Italy.
“Of course. I arrive back in two days.” The excitement in my tone is palpable, and I wonder if he can hear it. Even though I’m young, I’m responsible, mature, and I can certainly complete the tasks he listed in the ad.
“Let’s meet on Friday. That will give you a few days to settle in.” The thick accent is syrupy sweet, and I wonder what he looks like.
“Thank you, Mr. Elliot. I’m excited to see the gallery,” I tell him earnestly. It’s been the most exciting thing that’s happened since I told my best friend I’m flying back. When I informed her I’m going straight to New Orleans, she just about squealed.
“Till then.” His voice is gruff, and then I’m met with a deadly silent line since he’s just hung up. He didn’t even say goodbye. I wonder if working with him will be as strange as that short conversation.
I know I’ll work my ass off to impress him. Being focused and dedicated, I hope to ensure my age doesn’t factor into his decision to hire me. Most of the companies I contacted responded with regret because they felt I was too young. Then again, most of them were old, stuffy suits who wouldn’t know what good art was if it hit them in the face.
A knock on my apartment door startles me from my thoughts. When I open it, I’m met with my best friend, who pretty much followed me all around the world. We’ve known each other since we were in high school. I’d been the nerdy girl who always had her nose buried between the pages of a book.
Phoebe is the complete opposite. One of the more popular girls, she would drag me along to parties and force me to have fun. Even with our differences, we spent every day of our school years together. When I went off to Yale, she followed along, getting a full scholarship. Those were our wilder years. I’d decided, since I lost my mom far too young, I wanted to live each day to its fullest. I never knew my father, and even though it didn’t bother me too much, I still wondered what my life would be like if I had him around.
Needless to say, I’d found a love of going out. Perhaps too much. But after losing Mom, I’d gotten back on the straight and narrow with Phoebe’s help.
“How are you, darling?” She pulls me in for a hug, and I catch a whiff of coffee and something sweet. When Phoebe steps back, she pulls out a small packet of candy and hands it to me. It’s my favorite. There’s a small boutique store down the way, and the old lady who runs it makes the most amazing sugary treats.
“This is so good, thank you. I just spoke to whom I hope is my new boss,” I tell her, popping one of the strawberry-flavored balls into my mouth. “He wants to meet me on Friday. I’ll have three days to explore my new home.”
“Nea, I’m so happy you’re taking a chance on this. You’ll love New Orleans,” my friend informs me happily as she flops on my sofa.
“Wine?” I ask her, picking up the bottle I took out earlier.